


A Quest for Zach ft. Bad Sandwiches

by Yesscribestar



Category: Buzzfeed The Try Guys (Web Series)
Genre: Other, The Try Guys, TryGuysEatSandwiches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yesscribestar/pseuds/Yesscribestar
Summary: Zach Kornfeld is an eleven year old kid, his father Eugene Lee Yang is barely keeping it together, his mother Keith has been kidnapped by a villain called Becky with Ned as her henchman. All Zach wants is a sandwich, but things escalate very quickly. Action! Humor! Bad sandwiches!





	A Quest for Zach ft. Bad Sandwiches

Zach was eleven years old and a growing, hungry boy. He was determined. He pushed his way through the entrance to the sandwich shop, his father Eugene’s credit card in his hand. Above his head, the door chimes prettily tinkled. The man behind the counter looked up from tapping on his cell phone. According to his name tag, he was called Ned. He had green eyes and looked like one of those nice, bland men who smiled at children a lot. And lured the good-looking, plump, stupid ones into his home. To eat them, after he drained their blood. You never knew what a blood-draining, child-eater looked like these days.

            Zach was a good-looking kid. But he was skinny. And most importantly: smart. So he was safe.

            “Hello,” said Zach. “How are you, sir?” A year ago Keith, his mother, had been kidnapped by the henchmen of a certain villain named Becky. But before they had been precipitously separated, Keith had taught his son pretty darn good manners.

            “’Sup?” said Ned. “What can I get for you today?”

            It was a very nice shop. There were several pre-made sandwiches wrapped and ready to sell in the display, and there was a big salad bar nearby.

            “I would like the Spicy Stomach Dissolver, the Heart Attack No.3, and the Probably Mostly Meat Club. Please.”

            “Sure,” said Ned. “That will be $16.79. Would you like to try a sample of our new Tummyache Tuna Melt?”

            “Thanks.” Zach took a piece. The sourdough bread was toasted lightly, the way his mother used to do for him. Zach handed over the credit card.

            “Sorry, kid, but new store policy. We have to check ID with credit cards. Your mom with you?”

            Zach shook his head.

            “Your dad?”

            Zach pulled out his cell phone and called Eugene. The ringing went on and on. Finally, a croaky voice answered.

            “Zullo?” Eugene said. “Zahh?”

            Zach looked out the store’s glass doors, where he could see the parking lot. His dad was in his car, slumped over the wheel. Not drunk—he wouldn’t get drunk now. Not after Zach tossed all his bottles. But his dad was probably dead tired, after a long day of Missing Keith, Crying into Pillows, and Plotting Revenge.

            “Dad,” Zach said. “You have to come inside to show your ID.”

            “Ok,” Eugene said. “But I don’t have any shoes on.”

            “No shoes, no shirt, no service,” said Ned, who was looking down at his phone again. It looked like he was playing a game, but he must have very sharp hearing. Maybe he was a werewolf. In all the books Zach read, werewolves had excellent ears.

            “Why don’t you have shoes on, Dad?”

“Plotting Revenge," said Eugene heavily, "day after day really takes a toll on your feet, boy. Shoes make ′em hurt even more.”

            “Ok,” said Zach. “I have ten dollars with me. Do you have seven dollars?”

            Eugene dropped the phone and Zach heard the sounds of fumbling and cursing, in Korean.

            “Ah-hah!” said Eugene. “I have a hundred dollar bill!”

            “Sorry,” said Ned, looking up from his game briefly. “We ain’t taking any bills over twenty.”

            Ned was, Zach decided, an asshole. His wife had probably fled from him and now here he was, a bitter man with a shriveled heart, trying to drain some children of blood and stopping some others from eating unhealthy sandwiches.

            “Hey, Dad,” Zach said into his phone. “I guess I’ll cook dinner tonight.” He could make spaghetti almost as good as his mother’s. Almost. He put the rest of his tuna melt down, no longer hungry.

            Eugene said, in a very dark voice, “I’ll come inside.”

            “Oh, will he?” said Ned, looking extremely annoyed, rolling up his sleeves.

            That was when Zach noticed the tattoos on the man’s arms. One was of a mermaid with two tails holding a trident. The other was an ugly, spiky _X_ over the pulse of his wrist. With that one, the skin was still a little red, the ink very black and fresh.

            The mermaid was a sign that he was a member of the infamous Silver Sirens—a seafaring cult headed by the nefarious Becky. Who had kidnapped his unsuspecting mother a year ago, while Keith had been singing to newly-hatched baby sea turtles. They all had been enjoying a summer beach vacation.

            Eugene had never been the same since. Neither had Zach.

            The _X_ meant the Silver Sirens had kicked him out of the cult—apparently very recently—probably why he was stuck working in a sandwich shop when he clearly hated it.

            Zach narrowed his eyes at Ned.

            The chimes over the entrance sighed prettily. Eugene stepped over the doorway, backlit by the sunlight. Barefoot.

            He strode inside.

 

“Get out of here, son,” Eugene said. “Go to the car.”

            Zach scooted back a step, but only that. He kept his eyes on the mermaid-marked man.

            “You have nice toes,” Ned was saying. “But you still can’t be here.”

            Zach could tell the exact moment when Eugene saw the tattoos and all thoughts of sandwiches and payments and non-payments fled his head. Because his father held still, very still, for a count of two. Then Eugene grabbed the tray of Tummyache Tuna Melts and tried to brain Ned with it.

            “Where is Keith?” Eugene roared.

            “Who is Keith?” said Ned. Possibly when he had been a member of the Sirens, they’d simply kidnapped so many people they couldn’t keep track of them all. Or maybe Ned was just not that bright, and that’s why they kicked him out.

            Ned was strong, though. Very strong. He threw a punch in Eugene’s face, connecting and sending blood across the air. Eugene recovered and tackled Ned into the salad bar. Romaine lettuce exploded into leafy green confetti and cherry tomatoes burst everywhere.

            Zach knew that violence was not the answer. But it was a very good distraction. He scrambled over the counter and grabbed Ned’s cell phone. Scrolling to the contacts, he thought that Ned had already wiped out Becky’s number. But she was still listed, under _E_ for “Evil Becky.”

            Zach hit the call button and waited, his heart pounding. In the background, Ned was trying to put Eugene in a chokehold. Zach listened to a ring, and another ring. Then it stopped and a voice said, “Hello, you’ve reached Becky’s phone, but she’s—”

            A mellifluous, velvet voice. A voice that meant joy. It was so powerful that it could sing to baby sea turtles and be overheard and get its person kidnapped. It was a thing of such beauty. Zach hadn’t heard it for a year.

            He said, “Mom?”

            Keith said, sounding confused, “Who is this? Do I know you?”

            A woman’s voice in the background said, “Sweetie, what is it? Come over here.”

            The call ended.

            Zach dropped the phone. Something was very, very wrong.

            He looked over to his father, who had just been knocked out. He looked over at one of the sandwiches on display—the Beefy Monster—and picked it up. He slapped Ned full in the face with it. Half-dead from his fight with Eugene, Ned went down. He curled up and cried a little on the ground.

            Zach crossed over to the door of the shop, locked it, flipped the sign over to “Close,” and pulled down the shades. He made his way to Ned again, looking down.

            There comes a time in every boy’s life when he must grow up, when the world ripples from calm expanses of black and white and drains into pools of patchy grayness, veined with both light and dark, vibrant with everything in between. Zach could feel his skin and his heart and his thoughts exploring, passing through new things.

            He tied up Ned’s feet with his shoelaces and Ned’s hands with Eugene’s—no, his father did not have any shoelaces. He wrapped up Ned’s hands with paper sandwich wrappers and taped the whole mess together.

            He slapped Ned awake and demanded softly, “Where is my mother?”

 


End file.
